Close and Continuing
by ComicalEpiphanies
Summary: For August Anderson, passion used to be reserved for one-night stands and work. But not anymore, because before Annie Walker, before Ray Charles, there was Natasha Petrovna. Canon-compliant. Now complete. 4th in my "Rookie" series, but can be read alone. UPDATE: This was written before the web episodes of season two of "Sights Unseen".
1. Snow Crash and Burn

**This is canon-compliant. The story begins in the late summer of 2007. It will continue on through to late 2008. **

Close and Continuing

August Anderson was by no means a vain man (though he was proud of his hair), but he did spend at least ten minutes in front of the mirror every morning.

Eyelids tensed and silted, jaw tight and ridged, back straight but slightly forward, August (or to his friends, Auggie) glared at his reflection. After a second, the expression relaxed into stoicism before curling into happiness. From happiness it melted into fear, then surprise before he reached for his toothbrush.

An hour later found Auggie swiping his badge at the CIA front security desk.

"You shouldn't be wearing that."

Auggie glanced behind him and took the coffee cup out from between his teeth where he'd been holding it while he searched for his ID. "Joan," he said by way of greeting. "Why?" Auggie looked down at his slightly ruffled black suit and the rather obvious green striped tie an old forgotten ex had given him for his birthday. "I've worn this tie to the office plenty of times and you've never commented."

"You're not working in the office today." Joan handed him a white file folder. "You're going to solidify your new cover."

"I have a new cover?" Auggie opened the file while graciously holding the door open for his boss.

"Security hacker."

"Really?" Auggie flipped to the next page of the file before looking up and grinning at his boss. Auggie loved computers and he'd always prized himself on his hacking abilities. They'd gotten him into MIT and the other agents to take him seriously (when he'd first arrived at the Farm, everyone had laughed and called him a wannabe. That was until he hacked into the mainframe and… well, it's classified.).

"You should have been at the security conference an hour ago."

~OOOO~

It took all of Auggie's not inconsiderable emotional control to keep the excitement out of his expression. If the other agents ever found out just how much Auggie felt at home there, in the middle of cyber-wizards' heaven, he'd never hear the end of it.

He tried not to think about why he was there (to check out possible security threats, among other things) as he gazed around at the bustling conference hall jam-packed with buzzing computers, Star Trekkies, and emo hackers.

He mentally rubbed his hands together. It was time to get to work.

Auggie sidled up to the nearest security tech (evident by the polo, or so his friend, Scott, from technical operations, told him). "What have you got?"

He mentally winced. Not the best way to start a conversation.

The woman, no older than twenty, Auggie guessed, but that was nothing special in the cyber community—Auggie himself had been a certified computer wiz at twelve—had straight, sickly brown hair and a nasally voice that grated on Auggie's eardrums. "Security," she answered gruffly.

Auggie nodded in a semi-polite manner before picking up one of the woman's pamphlets and walking away. There was no way she'd ever be a possible asset.

He spent the next couple of hours bouncing around the booths, picking up a pamphlet here and there if the conversation wasn't stimulating, listening to a few sale-pitches, and generally getting back into the nerd lingo he'd be so isolated from since college.

He was just getting into the finer points of prime-number based encryptions with a possible up-and-coming hacker named Greg, when he noticed the time. He was thirty minutes late to checking in with Joan and the rest of the DPD, not to mention he still hadn't checked into the hotel. It was a miracle they hadn't sent in the cavalry.

As he hung up the pay phone (he'd been instructed to call his "mother", a.k.a Scott from tech ops) and prepared to leave, he cast his eyes around the room again, not really focusing on one thing in particular, until his gaze landed on the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Her hair was a coppery red that was so dark, it was almost black, and it fell against her back in smooth ringlets. Her lips were a deeper, bloodier red. She was, for lack of a better word, perfect. Then his dilated pupils fell on her clothes, or more specifically, her sweatshirt. Her male sweatshirt.

Auggie suddenly didn't feel all that sorry to leave.

~OOOOOOO~

It was almost three weeks later and Auggie was back in his overpriced apartment, swearing at his ominously hissing washing machine, and praying his favorite t-shirt wasn't about to burst into flames, or as it was more likely, come out looking like a relic from the seventies.

Ten minutes later he knew he shouldn't have tried to save money and electricity by modifying the water pressure and heating coil. He also knew that there was no way in hell his machine would ever quite recover from its ordeal. With a sigh, he left his favorite (and now ruined), once-nice T-shirt in the sink to dry and bundled the rest of his laundry into an old gym bag.

He swung the bag over his shoulder and locked his apartment door, mumbling under his breath about going green and turning red and useless mechanic classes. He knew he shouldn't have been cocky enough to put his favorite shirt in with the testing load.

~OOOOOOOOO~

The crammed laundry bag slammed into his back with every step. Auggie wished he'd thought ahead and grabbed a couple of extra bills for a cab fare. As ridiculous as it might sound, Auggie had considered it a kind of promotion to have his own personal washing machine; he found it almost embarrassing to be searching for a laundromat.

She saw him first, though he was too busy dashing to the nearest machine to notice. She watched him dump his bulging gym bag three machines down from her spinning socks and white collars. She saw him glance around, and forced her eyes back to her somewhat less interesting book.

Auggie noticed her after he shoved the last of his almost ripe gym sweats into the machine. She was in the far corner, the last seat by the window, her feet pulled up, cradling a semi-worn paperback. It took him less than a second to remember those luscious auburn locks (now pulled into a sloppy ponytail). His heart did a strange kind of flop while his brain locked in a minor schizophrenic argument for and against approaching her.

She turned the page, giving him a flash of the cover that ended the internal debate. _Snow Crash_. He'd recognize that yellow-brown, blue centered cover anywhere. It was the final straw. Whether she had a boyfriend or not, he couldn't _not _go up and introduce himself to the most perfect woman he'd ever run across.

He pooled all his courage, drawing on the information from his seduction class at the Farm and experiences in the field, and put his best foot forward.

And promptly stumbled over his hastily dumped gym bag.

Auggie caught himself just before he took a nosedive into the tiles, barely managing to contain the heavy blush he could feel creeping up his shoulders. He glanced over at the woman and was thankful to see that she was still absorbed in his favorite book. He coughed under his breath, using the action to further regroup.

He sat with a chair between them and counted to ten before glancing around as if he'd just realized he had nothing to do. Almost causally, he leaned over the empty chair and said, "Is that _Snow Crash_?"

The woman looked up and Auggie was struck again by the deep brown of her eyes. He'd always been a sucker for brown eyes.

"Yes," she replied with a heavy, but not thick, accent. Auggie's trained mind immediately classified it as Russian, probably raised near St. Petersburg. Darn. Russians were always hard to date. The Cold War might be fading from civilian memory, but not the government's.

"Do you like it?"

The Russian goddess seemed to be studying him. Auggie didn't flinch as her eyes racked over his causal blue jeans and second-favorite t-shirt. After a couple of moments, she decided he was worth a few minutes of her time and replied. "Yes. It is one of my favorites."

"Yeah, one of mine too." Auggie mentally cringed. He didn't get it. He'd passed the "flirting" course at the Farm with flying colors, so where was the charm now? He glanced down at the paperback again, noting the wear-and-tear. "What did you think about the virus? I hear some people thought it was impractical."

Auggie was half-surprised when, instead of shrugging and snubbing him, the woman smiled almost slyly and said, "It is new."

Auggie grinned back. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He paused, weighing his chances, before holding out his hand. "I'm August—Auggie. Auggie Anderson. Broke computer tech."

He knew he'd judged right when the woman's lips twitched again. "Natasha Petrovna."

"Didn't I see you at the DataTech conference a couple of weeks ago?" Not the smoothest line August Anderson had ever used, but it seemed to do the trick.

"Did you?"

Auggie grinned. "Yeah, I did."

Natasha might have been about to answer, but the _ding_ of the dryer distracted her. Auggie watched as she loaded her laundry into her basket, hypnotized by the curve of her back and the way her legs tensed as she heaved her load up onto the nearest washer for sorting. He only regained his senses when she glanced back at him. She smiled, close-lipped, before picking up her basket again.

Auggie blinked to clear his head, then, noticing she'd stopped at the exit, rushed to open the door for her. "Are you going far, 'cause I have a car," he spouted before his brain had time to remind his libido that he'd lugged his way to the laundromat.

"I am not so young that I accept lifts from strange men," Natasha replied, her tone almost too playful to be serious. "Especially from men who do not have their cars with them."

Only Auggie's training saved him from looking like a fish as Natasha exited the laundromat and disappeared around the corner of the building.

**A/N: Well, here it is. I've been struggling to write this since Communication Breakdown. I have the next couple of chapters outlined, but any prompts would be greatly appreciated. I've hit a stonewall too many times for this story to not ask for help. I will finish this story, I must, it's been in my head too long for me not to. So while updates might be slower than you or I would like, they will come. **


	2. Catch Me If You Can

**A/N: In all my years on FanFic, I don't think I've ever had the next chapter so quickly without the story being finished. So I thought I'd commemorate the occasion by giving chapter two to you now. That being said, don't expect this every time. I will try to do it again, but I've never been good at repeat performances. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy. **

* * *

Chapter Two:

Auggie had a system. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday that he wasn't halfway across the world or something, he would wake up at the crack of dawn and drive fifteen minutes to the private gym he'd found a few weeks after he'd been transferred to Langley. Though his fellow field officers thought he was ridiculous for paying membership to a gym when the Agency had the best equipment in Virginia open to all employees, he refused to give up his routine. A gym is _the _place to meet girls, and the truth was, August Anderson wasn't all that interested in his almost universally sexy, female counterparts. Oh, he was a guy, the decidedly straight kind of guy, but he could never seem to work up the energy to be more than passingly attracted to the women that could, and did, risk what he did every time he accepted a manila folder.

So it was that the Tuesday following his battle with his laundry machine, Auggie was up—or at least slapping at his alarm clock—at five-thirty. He more flopped than rolled out of bed and proceeded to locate his gym clothes.

It took him longer than usual to put in his contacts and fill his favorite water bottle, but he was in his car, on his way to the Midtown Club, by six o'clock.

~OOOOOO~

"Hey Bobby," Auggie yawned as he slung his bag over to the other shoulder on his way to the locker room behind the main floor.

"Hey Aug. Didn't think you'd be in today," Bobby, the enthusiastic owner and body-builder replied. He put down his weight and followed Auggie into the locker room.

Auggie looked behind him, surprised to see Bobby's looming figure. Usually they just swapped hellos and talked for a minute next to the equipment. "Yeah, worked late last night." He'd been given a thankfully easy exchange in Britain and had spent most of the day in a stiff airplane seat in coach—which is never as restful as his bosses make it sound. "Didn't want to get up this morning."

"Hey, you wanna wake up?" The burly man leaned in closer than Auggie would normally have allowed to stage whisper into his ear. "Outside, treadmill. Been working up a nice—"

Auggie pulled his head through his t-shirt. "How long is Grace gone this time?" he interrupted before Bobby could ruin the woman before he even got to see her. Grace, Bobby's wife of nearly ten years, was a semi-professional runner, often traveling to various marathons. From what Auggie had gathered, Bobby used to go with her, but then he'd blown out his knee and had to stop. He had yet to get used to being alone for long periods of time, a quality Auggie could appreciate if not understand.

Bobby's intimidation factor dropped by a good ten percent as he blushed. "Couple more weeks. I'm dying, Aug."

Auggie was momentarily lost for action, but he covered it well. He never really thought of himself as the comforting type, despite what others seemed to think. "Where is she now?"

"Boston."

Auggie stood there, in his gym shorts and t-shirt, as clueless as the stereotypical guy. After a pause he deemed long enough, he patting the larger man lightly on the shoulder as he gently pushed passed him on his way toward the machines. "Call her tonight," he offered.

"Yeah!" Bobby looked decidedly cheerer as he too headed to the equipment. Luckily, for Auggie at least, he veered off toward his favorite weights.

~OOOOOO~

August Anderson prized himself on his observational skills. They were always above average, but through all his military and agency training, they'd been honed to precision.

So it came as a surprise that when he'd first entered the gym he'd missed such a big thing as a woman using his favorite treadmill. It came as an even bigger shock that he recognized the form that was currently clad in _very _flattering gym clothes.

In his most casual, I-go-to-the-gym-often semi-swagger, Auggie crossed the area to the other treadmill, which, not so coincidently, was right next to hers, and started it at a brisk warm-up pace.

"Natasha, right?" he said as his machine began to speed up.

The object of his attractions pulled out an ear bud and looked over at him, her jog not even faltering. "Are you stalking me?" she asked in a tone that left no doubt in Auggie's mind that she was being completely serious. Auggie's step fell short and he nearly tripped.

In an effort to recover his suave, he said, "I could ask you the same question."

There was a long pause in which Auggie was sure he'd just ruined any chance of scoring, before, "I believe I was here before you."

Auggie increased his speed to match hers. "I think we can settle this. I joined this gym eighteen months ago. You?"

Natasha pushed a button and her treadmill sped up. Auggie waited a split-second before increasing his again too. She pressed the button twice, and without formal declaration, it was _on. _

Auggie was in great shape, always had been and, if he had any thing to say about it, always would be. He worked hard to keep up his muscular understatements. He ran a good few miles every day, rain or shine, but after five straight accelerations in less than three minutes, he had to admit, it was getting harder to stay in the middle of the track. His only ego consolation was it looked as if Natasha was having just as much trouble keeping up with him as he was with her.

"Alright, cool it before ya break my machines!" Bobby appeared in front of Auggie, his intimidation factor back on full. Auggie had never been so glad to see the near-muscle-bound body-builder in all his life. He immediately started decreasing his speed, letting his body warm down. Bobby gave them both another glare (which was softened considerably by his congratulatory wink toward Auggie), and hurried back to spotting for another member.

"Nice run," Auggie managed to squeeze out of his lungs as he slowed to a smooth walk.

Natasha didn't (or couldn't) reply. She reached for her bottle, only to find it almost empty. She drained the last of it without a second thought. Auggie could see she was dying for more, but she was still going too fast to safely step off the treadmill. In a moment of chivalry that surprised even himself, he held out his water. "Here."

Natasha glanced at him, her cheeks red from the exertion. For a second, she contemplated his actions, but then she took the outstretched bottle. "Thank you."

"Welcome," Auggie replied, getting down from his treadmill. He waited a couple of beats until she'd drunk her fill, wiping his forehead with his towel and generally trying to steady his breathing. He took the water back, not surprised to feel it considerably lighter than it was before. "If you're nursing a cold or something, tell me now." He took a large swig of the cool water without waiting for Natasha to say anything.

They stood there for a second, looking at each other, both secretly appreciating the other's flushed complexions, before Natasha broke the moment. "I must go clean up. Thank you for the water."

"Yeah, me too." Auggie turned around, looking for his bag before he remembered he'd left it in the locker room. He wiped his sweaty brow again (he hadn't sweat so much after such a short run in a long time, he noted), downed the last few ounces of water in his bottle, and headed to the back to take a shower of his own.

~OOOOO~

"Aah!"

Auggie jumped back, his heart leaping into his throat. "I am so sorry!" he cried, dropping his gym bag and hurrying to the side of the victim of bad timing (and the male locker room's door). It didn't even surprise him that his karma would make the victim the one person he was currently trying to impress: Natasha.

She was leaning against the wall, clutching her temple. Auggie snapped into assessment mode. He kneeled down, encouraging her into a sitting position. "Let me see."

Natasha sent him a dirty glare, but allowed him to gently remove her hands so that he could see what he had done. The skin wasn't broken, thank goodness, but a good part of the right side of her face would be colorfully bruised in couple of hours or so.

Auggie was no doctor, but he'd been in the field long enough to know most of the basics. "Follow my fingers," he ordered. Natasha glared again, but did as she was told.

"Bobby, you have—?" Bobby, who'd seen the collision and gone straight for the first-aid kit, placed it next to Auggie before he could finish the sentence. "Thanks."

Auggie scrambled around in the box for a while before deciding that there was no flashlight. He was suddenly glad he'd bought the penlight keychain that was on sale a while ago. It took him a second, but he located his keys and the light attached to them.

"I am fine," Natasha said, trying to push him away, but Bobby settled her down by saying, "No one wants a lawsuit, right? Let Auggie make sure you're not going to die the minute you walk outta my gym."

"I am not going to die. It was a simple bump in the head," Natasha argued, while Auggie checked her pupils.

"Looks like she's right, Bobby," Auggie agreed, returning his penlight to his keychain. "I didn't break her."

"You could not break me!" Natasha cried. All the patrons (the three other gym-goers had crowded around to look) and Bobby were surprised by her outburst, but Natasha didn't seem to notice.

"Okay," Auggie replied, breaking a cold pack and handing it to her, "but can I make this up to you? I finished my run early, and I don't have to be at work for another hour. I feel like I owe you a coffee after this." He mentally winced, positive his mouth had just chosen the _wrong _time to ask for a date. He was glad the crowd (with the exception of Bobby, who was still nervously watching) had already dispersed.

"I suppose," Natasha spoke slowly, considering, "I can accept a coffee."

Auggie blinked, but recovered himself before anyone, most importantly, Natasha, noticed. He led the way to the exit (ignoring John's—one of the members who Auggie had struck up a sort of friendship with—comment to "watch the door") and followed his "date" out onto the sidewalk.

**A/N: Reviews and questions make me write faster and with more heart. And I think we all know how great it feels to see the review alert in our mailboxes. Spread the good cheer? I'll have chapter three up as soon as possible. **


	3. Coffee and a Stalker

**A/N: I would like to take this opportunity to thank Beth-Geek Chick for her great advice on how to navigate the perils of writing romance. You should thank her too, because now I have a workable outline. Mandy58 also deserves a hundred thanks, but you'll see her contributions in a couple of chapters, so we shall hold our applause. **

**On a completely separate note, this chapter contains as a few sexual references. They are mild, but definitely worthy of a T rating. If you are looking for more from this fic, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I don't like to read M, so you can be sure I'll never write it.**

Chapter Three:

"So, your head still throbbing?" Auggie asked after they'd both placed their orders (a grande cappuccino for him and an iced caramel macchiato for her) and found a table out of the way of the long, caffeine-deprived line.

Natasha placed the cold pack on the table. "It is fine."

Auggie nodded and glanced around, praying for a conversation. He had to keep his eyes away from the bruise that was just beginning to blossom around Natasha's right temple.

"You been in America long?" he finally asked.

Natasha, who'd been staring at the counter, watching the brewers shuffle and bump into each other as they tried to juggle multiple orders, looked back at him. "For a year."

"Wow, your accent is fabulous." Normally when Auggie complemented a date, he was just being nice, but not at the moment; he was genuinely impressed. He knew from personal experience that getting rid of an accent was no easy task. He'd had to have extra lessons with the Agency dialogue coach to get rid of his American accent for his six-month sleeper assignment in Rome, and that was after he'd been mostly, if not completely, fluent in Italian for almost five years. "You must be pretty good with languages."

Natasha shrugged. "I do alright."

The conversation went dead. Had a waitress not called his name, allowing him a moment to regain his bearings while he fetched the cups of caffeine, Auggie would have declared the relationship's time of death.

"Thanks," Auggie said to the waitress, glad to be able to break the thick silence. The waitress perked her lips at the corners, and called out the next person's name in reply. Auggie took the two cups and brought them back to their rickety table in the back. He slid into his seat, staring at the coffees as if they were the reason he was being so uncharacteristically awkward.

Auggie took a long sip of his drink. He opened his mouth to try to initiate another conversation, but Natasha beat him to it.

"Where are you from?"

"Illinois, a few miles from Chicago. You?"

"Russia." Natasha didn't elaborate, and as much as Auggie wanted to know more, he didn't push it.

"Why did you move here?"

Natasha took another sip of her macchiato. Auggie recognized the signs of delaying, but then again, he hadn't been all that forthcoming either; he decided not to interrupt her train of thought, which ended up being a good thing, as she must have decided he was worth a bit of her trust. "I did not like my employers back home. America seemed like as good as place as any, and I was offered a good job here."

"Me too," Auggie replied.

"What is it you do, Auggie Anderson, broke computer tech?"

Auggie grinned into his cup. She remembered his exact words! He decided not to dwell on the fact that he'd made a fool of himself then as well as in the gym. "You know those computer geeks big corporations higher to see if they can crack their systems?" Auggie's grin grew wider, even as he embellished his cover. "Well, you're looking at geek number two-one-five-eight."

"Who are the two thousand, one hundred and fifty-seven hackers above you?"

Auggie paused. And then he laughed. "You know, I have no clue."

Natasha's deadpan broke and she smiled a real smile, her mouth widened and opened. She had good teeth, Auggie noticed. He was glad; there was little that turned him as off as bad orthodontia. "Do you not have to be on time?"

If Auggie hadn't just finished his coffee, he would probably have snorted across the table. As it was, he coughed and forced himself not to let his brain jump to the conclusion his "other brain" was trying to push it toward. "Actually," he began, his voice subtly melting into what his deception instructor at the Farm called "manly flirtatious".

"Because it is almost eight o'clock," Natasha interrupted. Her eyes flashed with a kind of glee only describable as a mix of humor and sadistic fun. That look almost made Auggie, trained CIA agent and rumored Don Juan of the DPD, lose a considerable amount of control over his libido.

"Already?" Auggie snapped his eyes to his old digital watch, which, though going on eight years, had perfect time. To his shock, she was right. He couldn't believe they'd been in the café that long, even with all the pregnant pauses. "I'm so sorry, but I gotta go." He was already going to be later than he normally was.

Auggie was already standing, preparing to leave, when he stopped. "Hey, you know, this was fun. We should do this again." His eyes flicked over to her temple and he instructed his lips into a small smile. "Without the door, of course."

"Maybe," Natasha replied, shrugging in practiced ambivalence.

"Tell you what," Auggie was not going to be deigned, neither of his brains could take it. "I usually have take-out on Wednesdays nights, but I don't really feel like I'm going to want to eat out of a box tomorrow. If, say, I decide to sit down at, say, seven-thirty at The Flying Dragon, and you just happened to be there, would you like to share a table?"

Auggie grinned his best Casanova grin, proud that he'd managed to get back his mojo.

"If we are both there," Natasha responded cooly.

"Then maybe I'll see you." Auggie shot her another grin before, without looking back so as not to ruin the moment, he exited the café.

Natasha waited until he'd turned the corner, out of the view of the window, to smile into her cup.

~OOOOO~

Auggie glanced down at his watch for the third time. He'd been waiting at The Flying Dragon for almost fifteen minutes, five minutes past the unofficial time of seven-thirty, and he was beginning to think his mojo hadn't been as back as he'd thought. He hadn't eaten since eleven, and then he'd only had time to munch on a mostly firm apple he'd found in his computer bag. He was just about to cave and order an egg roll or perhaps a bowl of wanton soup, when the bell announcing an entrance drew his eye to the door and he saw her.

She'd done a good job covering the bruise with makeup, and her loose curls hid the swelling Auggie knew must be there. She looked around for a moment before waving off the approaching waiter and walking toward Auggie.

"Are you stalking me?" Auggie asked, grinning.

"Maybe," Natasha answered. She paused a step away for the open seat cattycorner from the agent.

Auggie noticed her nonverbal request, and said, "Well, may I offer my maybe-stalker a chair?" He stood up and pulled out the seat, presenting it with a flourish and pushing it back in like a proper gentleman from before the age of feminism.

~OOOOOO~

The date had gone pretty well, Auggie thought. Natasha had turned out to be extremely sharp, and the conversation moved with much more ease than it had forty-two hours previously. But what really convinced Auggie that the date hadn't been a flop was the not insignificant clue that he was currently lying in his bed with his arm acting as a pillow to the woman he'd only that Tuesday knocked in the head with a door.

As he slipped back into the comfortable haze of the afterglow, he decided that Natasha was the wrong name for her. In his mind, Natasha went with _Rocky and Bullwinkle_, with Boris and their propagandized accents. Natasha was a character of questionable allegiances and dubious morals. Natasha was a black widow.

Tash. That was what he'd call her.

He would tell her in the morning.


	4. Biting Off More Than You Can Chew

**A/N: I've been waiting to post this until I had more written, but as I'm now almost finished with chapter seven (gotta love snow days), I think I've waited long enough. Thanks go out to everyone who has read and especially those who've reviewed. I know this pairing isn't very popular, but it's great to see I am not alone out on this limb. I haven't been very good at replying to reviews, but you all know I am eternally grateful. Thank you. Until next chapter!**

Chapter Four:

"You are actually going to cook for a lady-friend?"

It was Saturday, and Auggie and his mentor, retired Agent Philip Mace, were eating lunch in the outside deli near where Mace worked part-time for a personal security firm.

Auggie took another bite of his roast beef grinder, but didn't answer. Instead he went with the-mayonnaise-has-glued-my-sandwich-to-the-roof-of-my-mouth avoidance. It was just bad luck that the person he was trying to fool had spent more time in the field than a couple of division directors at the Agency. Needless to say, the older man didn't fall for it.

"A week ago you said she was giving you the cold shoulder."

"Yeah," Auggie mumbled. He always seemed to be reduced to a teenager around the agent who'd turned down a director position twice. "But there've been a few developments."

"Really?" Mace raised his eyebrow with an elegance that Auggie could only wish he had.

"She's warmed up to me, I think. When we had dinner a couple of nights ago, she even laughed at most of my jokes."

"A couple of nights ago? August, I don't believe I've ever known you to take so long to get a lady."

Auggie put down his sub, preparing to get defensive. He opened his mouth, and promptly closed it again. "You know, you're right. But I've never found a 'lady' like this."

Mace didn't show it, but he was surprised. Usually Auggie defended his ability with women with as much fervor as a medieval knight did his king. He looked at Auggie again, this time using more of the talents he'd refined through twenty years of espionage. "I was wrong. You already got her."

"I didn't 'get' her! Like I said, Tash is different."

Mace looked his friend in the eye, casual as ever. "I've never found a different woman." He leaned in closer, and whispered, "And we both know I've had a lot of women."

His grin was wide and satisfied as he finished his sandwich and bade his protégée adieu.

When he'd gone a reasonable distance away from the deli, however, he glanced back over his shoulder. He was worried about his favorite "rookie". He'd been the younger man's go-to-guy for the first year of his employment as a full CIA field operative, had helped him make the transition from the Army/CIA Special Ops Lieutenant.

He needed to make a call.

~OOOOOOO~

Auggie was beginning to wish he hadn't suggested he make Natasha a true Italian meal when she'd admitted she'd never had one in a conversation during their date. He wasn't lying when he said he'd make her a meal she would die for, he just hadn't thought it might be literally. The lasagna noodles weren't softening correctly and he had a horrible suspicion he was supposed to cook the sausage with the garlic and onions before putting in it in the tomato sauce. He was beginning to understand why Mace had been so skeptical of his plan.

"Spread the sauce evenly over the first layer, sprinkle…" Auggie mumbled as he tried not to lump the cheese. He'd already had to redo a couple of layers because the noodle had slipped and it had looked like San Francisco in 1906 after the great earthquake.

He was just about to let loose a string of curses that would make his ancestors turn in their graves, when he heard the tap at his door. Glancing at his watch and noting that it was much too early to be Natasha, he went to answer it.

"Claire, hey!" Auggie prayed she wasn't going to stay long. He and his neighbor from the apartment downstairs were on good terms, always willing to spare coffee beans or sugar when the need arose, but Claire had the annoying tendency to overstay a welcome. He was once again relieved he'd had nothing interesting to do, and so had started cooking as soon as he'd gotten back from lunch.

"Oh thank God you're home!" Claire rushed. Auggie was instantly put on guard by her frantic tone. He was therefore relieved when she was quick to add that she was in dire need of technical assistance.

"I was just finishing this presentation for my boss when the screen just went all wonky! I tried to reboot it, and now it won't turn on, and I have to email it to him first thing tomorrow at the _latest_, so he can explain to the Board at their meeting Monday why our net-productivity has gone down twelve percent in the last six months, and when I called the Geek Squad they said they've got a backlog and it might take a few days. I don't have a few days!" she said in rapid-fire, full-out rant mode.

Auggie blinked. "Ok-ay. I think I got most of that." He wiped his hands on the dishtowel he'd flung over his shoulder. "You have the laptop?"

"Right here." Claire held it out. "I'll owe you forever. I'll even bake you some of my mother's famous snickerdoodles!"

Auggie took the laptop and opened it, filtering out Claire's rambles. He pressed the on button and, as expected, it didn't react.

"Right," Auggie put the screen down. "I'm a little busy at the moment, but if you let me keep it for a while, I'll have it back to you before tomorrow, 'kay?"

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Claire suddenly pulled Auggie into a hug, causing him to go rigid for a split-second, not having expected the physical contact. He didn't have time to do much more than that before Claire released him. "I promise—"

"It's fine. But Claire, I've really got to go deal with this lasagna." As soon as he said it, he realized he shouldn't have.

"Lasagna? My mother had the greatest recipe! I can help if you want."

Auggie thought about it. He glanced back at his makeshift attempt, cataloging its many hills and valleys and weighing his choices. He could continue attempting to curse the ingredients into submission and possible end up giving his, hopefully, new girlfriend salmonella or spend an hour or so listening to Claire's high pitched, panicky voice in return for an edible meal. As much as Claire's personality and pitch irked him, he had to admit that her mother's recipes were almost universally excellent.

He hoped Natasha would one day appreciate what he was willing to do to impress her.

"Think we can finish it before eight?" Auggie replied.

~OOOOOOO~

By seven forty-four, the lasagna was merrily baking in the oven. With Claire's help and her mother's recipe, Auggie had successfully made his first completely homemade (minus the noodles, which they didn't have time to make from scratch) meal in years, if ever. Claire had left just after putting the finishing touches on the top layer of the dish.

Auggie looked around his kitchen, satisfied that it was truly clean. He'd set the lounge area table—it was classier than the kitchen counter—as soon as Claire had left (he'd felt it was bad taste to set only two places with Claire around as she was not invited), and he had to admit, everything looked good. The salad he'd made was featured prominently in the middle of the coffee table in the crystal bowl his mother had gotten him as a housewarming gift when he'd moved to DC. It reflected the candles he'd lit, lending the area that flickering, incandescent quality he loved.

It surprised him just how much more effort he was putting into the relationship. He had nothing against courting, but he'd never really cared about it as long as he got a good lay. Auggie decided that's why he was trying so hard. The sex that night had been perhaps the best in his life. He'd hated that she'd had to run out early the next morning, preventing a repeat.

He looked at the wall clock. There were another ten minutes to eight, and, rationalizing that Natasha wouldn't arrive until a little after that, he headed over the Claire's laptop, which he'd placed on the island counter to run diagnostics after he'd determined it hadn't died (Claire had squealed in relief), merely gone "comatose", and he'd revived it by putting some of his computer mechanic courses to good use.

He had just tackled the problem—a cruel prank virus probably introduced via the Internet—and was just about to start building up Claire's almost-non-existent firewalls, when someone knocked on his door.


	5. Two Nerds

**A/N: Patricia Louise wrote that the last chapter was shorter than normal. She's right, because this is technically the second part of the chapter. I split the dinner date in half because this part was written especially for Mandy58. I promised her I'd try to fit in a certain situation, and I did my best. Also, you might notice a certain character. She graciously gave me permission to use Scott Simpson, from her delightfully well-written story, "Collide", which, if you haven't read already, you definitely should. ****In light of her contributions, this chapter is dedicated to her. **

Chapter Five:

"Right on time!" Auggie greeted Natasha, sliding open his door. As soon as his eyes landed on her, he was stuck by the lavishness of her outfit. He suddenly felt very underdressed, even if her dress wasn't all that fancy. Flowing was the best classification his brain could come up with at the moment.

"You look great," Auggie managed to say. He stepped back to allow her entrance, disciplining his mind to pay attention to something other than her gently swishing rear. "The lasagna's almost done," he added.

He slid the door shut and turned around to face Natasha. "Please, make yourself at home." He felt mildly awkward inviting her to get comfortable in the apartment where she'd spent a whole night being extremely _friendly _and leaving no doubt in Auggie's mind that she'd been very at home.

Auggie covered by latching onto the red wine he'd put on standby. He held it up. "Would you like a glass?"

Natasha placed her stylish pocketbook on the couch in front of the table. Auggie flashed her his patented Casanova smile as he expertly poured his favorite wine into their glasses.

The phone rang. Auggie pretended not to hear.

"How was your day?" he asked, levering himself gracefully onto the floor opposite her.

"Should you answer the phone?" Natasha replied as the phone rang a third time.

"I'm sure it's nothing." Auggie was desperate to keep Natasha's attention on the meal ahead of them. He'd worked too hard not to get at least a good kiss out of it. "See?" he said when the phone didn't ring again. "If it were really important, they would have called my cell."

No sooner had the sentence cleared his lips than Auggie's cell phone vibrated off the counter and landed in the garbage where it proceeded to shake the discarded pasta box. Natasha smiled into her wine.

Auggie pretended to find it as amusing as Natasha obviously did. "I guess I'd better answer it." He stood up and walked over to the trashcan to retrieve his convulsing cell. He shot Natasha a self-deprecating grin and glanced at the caller id. He groaned internally, but aware that it might actually be important, despite it being on his unsecured cell, he said, "I've got to take this. I'll be right back."

Auggie ducked into his bedroom before flipping open his Razor. "This had better be good," he growled.

"Great, you're free," came the voice of the head of DPD tech ops, Scott Simpson. "I need some help."

"And you called me because?" Auggie struggled to keep his voice low so that Natasha wouldn't hear.

"Stu and Penny weren't picking up."

"I wasn't picking up! I'm on a date! A date! You know, as in there's a good chance I'm gonna get laid!" Auggie stage-whispered into his phone, quite forgetting for a moment that his "laying" partner might very well hear him.

"Sorry man, but this is important." Auggie stopped just before he shut his cell. Scott, sensing he was loosing Auggie, got to the point. "I'm trying to crack this code."

Despite Auggie's frustration, he was intrigued. There were few things that could distract him from sex, but codes were one of them. "What type?"

"Well," Scott sounded out. Now that he knew Auggie was interested, he had to clarify. "It's more like a cipher."

Auggie closed his eyes and mimed knocking his head into his bathroom tiles. "You interrupted my date to ask me to solve a cipher that's not even for work?" Auggie didn't know why he was surprised. The only time Scott called his personal number was when he was off duty. And only when Scott was particularly upset did he call the DPD's rising agent. "Just apologize to your wife and let me try and salvage my date!"

"Look, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I just need a little hint. I've sent a picture to your email. It should arrive," his next word was cut off by Auggie's open laptop signifying that an email had arrived.

Against his better judgment, Auggie sat down at his desk and opened his email. As Scott had said, there was an email with a picture attachment, which Auggie opened. He studied the photograph of what looked to be a page from a newspaper, all the while trying to picture how he'd make up for leaving Natasha alone for so long.

"You get it?" Scott asked, his voice filtering up from the phone Auggie had dumped by the laptop.

"Yeah," Auggie answered, his eyes still contemplating the puzzle.

"Well?"

"It's a modified Zodiac cipher," Auggie replied after another few moments' analysis. "You want to know the code?"

"You've cracked it already?" Scott's voice was a mix of surprise, indignation, and mild shame for not being able to figure it out so quickly.

Auggie had always had a talent for decryption, and even if the puzzle in front of him was a much less complicated version of the 1969's serial killer's cipher, finding the pattern as fast as he just had was nothing to sneeze at. But he was trying to succeed in the Agency and he wouldn't be able to do that by showing up his handlers.

"No, but I can," he half-lied. He didn't wait for Scott to respond. He'd been in away too long as it was. "Now will you please go make up with Amy and let me be?"

"Amy and I are just going through a rough patch—"

Auggie hung up before Scott could continue. He checked his watch, ashamed at how long it had taken to get rid of his sort-of-friend. He ran his hand through his hair, both for reassurance and a reinvigorated swagger.

~OOOOOOOO~

The first thing Auggie's eyes found when he excited his bedroom was Natasha. She was typing furiously on Claire's laptop, her wine by her side and her gaze focused entirely on the screen in front of her.

"What are you doing?" Auggie managed to catch the accusatory tone, but he didn't quite get out the flirting vibe he'd intended.

"Your security leaves too much to chance," Natasha replied, her fingers still flying across the keyboard.

Auggie was immediately turned on. "I know. I was going to fix it."

"Now there is no need." Natasha pressed the backslash finitely.

Auggie walked over to stand behind the ever-increasing enigma of a Russian to see what she'd done. As he absorbed the streams of code, his pupils dilated as his arousal grew. "I don't recognize this approach," he finally managed to croak out.

"Of course not. I wrote it." Natasha's smile was sly, suggestive.

Auggie leaned closer to the screen. "You've managed to…" his voice trailed off as his brain computed her algorithm and the truth—that Claire's computer might very well be better protected than most of the computers at the Agency—set in.

For a moment, he fought the feeling that arouse, unbinding behind his sternum, but he hardly minded that he'd failed to contain it when he found his lips attached to the most perfect woman, the woman that was without a doubt, his match in everything.

Neither of them remembered that Natasha had come for dinner until acrid black smoke started filling the apartment, and even then, Auggie just turned off the oven and opened all the windows. And when Claire hammered on the front door at 12:01 AM for her fixed laptop, she didn't have time to give her thanks before the door was shut in her face.


	6. Do Not Try Me

**A/N: Here it is, one of my favorite situations! This is the chapter I had planned from before I even started this fic. It's taken a lot of re-writing (more so than usual), but it's one of my favorites. I hope you'll agree.**

Chapter Six:

After a five-day undercover assignment in Bosnia, all Auggie wanted was to sleep like Sleeping Beauty and for twice as long.

In a rare case of interdepartmental cooperation, he and the DCS' golden boy Ben Mercer had been sent to retrieve blueprints of a new super-stealth plane at a black-market auction. Ordinarily, the job would be way out of DPD jurisdiction, but the new DCS Director, Arthur Campbell, had personally requested Auggie's technical expertise. So instead of spending some time with his girlfriend, celebrating their six-month anniversary, he'd spent a hundred and twenty hours practicing his Texan accent and fighting not to make the pissing contest between his "business partner" and himself obvious to the casual observer.

Even now, after the flash drive holding the blueprints had been delivered safe and sound, Auggie didn't know how they'd managed to maintain their cover as wealthy oil executives, let alone complete the necessary data switch. They'd both been alternately intimidated and insulted by the other. Both were the stars of their divisions, but Auggie was still rising while Mercer had hit a plateau as far as his position was concerned. It also hadn't helped that neither were that excited about being partnered at all; their requests to be able to go in alone had fallen on deaf ears.

After the first day, Auggie knew that if he were ever partnered with Mercer again, he'd finally accept the standing invitation back to his unit.

Auggie collapsed onto his couch, not even able to muster the energy required to walk the twenty-something feet to his bed. His plane back to DC had had technical difficulties, but even if it hadn't, Auggie still wouldn't have been able to sleep, what with the rumbling snore of the sleeping business man up toward the front and his seatmate's layers of blubber encroaching on his seat. But, Auggie had forced himself to remember as he'd scooted almost into the window to avoid yet another effort on the fat's part to suffocate him, Mercer wasn't on the plane. He'd flown standby to ensure he wouldn't have to see the reckless SOB until the briefing tomorrow.

Auggie's head fell onto the enveloping couch, his mind completely dead to the world.

~OOOOOOOO~

Retired Agent Philip Mace read through the file on the table one more time.

Even through he'd been out of the Agency for almost three years, his formidable reputation as a field officer and now his job at a respectable private security firm provided him with the resources necessary to protect his protégé.

His initial dig into Natasha Petrovna had revealed nothing unusual. He'd discovered that she had been born and raised in Russia, she had a degree from a well-established institution, and eighteen months ago she'd come to the US with a green card. Her record was clean and besides some discrepancies with her father's history, she appeared a good match for Agent August Anderson. Mace, therefore, could not rationalize his growing suspicion that not all the information was in.

He was not so much surprised as resigned, then, when a favor from a friend (if an employee of the CIA could ever call a Fed a friend) called him a few months later.

The name Natasha Petrovna had cropped up in connection to a few high-end hacks. There was nothing substantial, no charges as of yet, but her name appeared often enough for the contact to deem the information worthy enough to pass on.

This was troublesome, made doubly so by the knowledge that Auggie had genuinely fallen for her, even if he had yet to acknowledge the fact.

In the privacy of the smaller boardroom, Mace allowed himself to sigh. It was a rare thing for a soldier and agent of Auggie's caliber to find someone he could connect to on such a level. Mace didn't kid himself, if he brought this file to Auggie, he'd be burning a bridge that would or could never be repaired, and even then, the chance of Auggie believing him was slim to none. When an agent trusts another human being, little short of that person pointing a gun and shooting said agent in the head will convince them that their trust is misplaced.

Mace had made up his mind. He stood up and slipped the file under his arm while he sent a prayer to the god he'd never really believed in that Auggie really had found the one different woman. After another second, he sent out another that the weight in his gut was just a side effect of swallowing too many pieces of gum.

~OOOOOOOO~

Auggie's eyes snapped open. Instantly his acute hearing latched on to the sound of something being dropped right outside his front door, and Auggie was in soldier-mode. Time slowed as Auggie's training and instincts came over.

The colorless hue of the apartment told him it was just before dawn, which meant that his neighbors would be in their deepest cycle of sleep. They might not hear a scuffle, but gunfire, definitely. That meant the Glock pistol he'd taped under the sofa was useless.

The intruder was having trouble opening the door, but it would only be a few more seconds, maximum, before they realized Auggie had been too tired to actually lock the door.

Auggie crouched and, as quietly as he ever had, dashed to his kitchen counter. He reached for a knife from the set next to the fridge, quickly locating the one he never used for cooking. He sped back to stand by the window, taking cover under the pre-dawn darkness. He'd be able to see them, but they would only see his silhouette, if anything.

His training and adrenaline kept him from stroking his weapon of choice. Instead, he held it by the tip of the blade, loosely, but firmly enough to ensure it wouldn't stop until it was buried into its target.

The intruder had figured out the door. Auggie tensed his arm. The door slid open.

Auggie only just stopped his fingers from releasing.

"Tash! What the hell are you doing? I almost killed you!" Auggie flipped the knife to grab the handle. He brandished the blade. "See this? That could have been in your—Never,_ ever_, sneak into my home like that!" Auggie yelled, his neighbors forgotten as his endorphin-heightened emotions gushed out of his mouth and crashed against his equally stunned girlfriend.

"You told me you would not be back until this morning," Natasha recovered.

"So you thought you'd what? Break into my apartment?" Auggie's parasympathetic nervous system kicked back into gear.

"I did not 'break in'!" Natasha held something up, and in the golden light of the rapidly approaching day, her new key flashed.

"It's not even five!" Auggie shot back. He had forgotten he'd given her a key to the apartment on her birthday three weeks ago, but he didn't let that slow him down. "What could possibly have been so important that you'd wake up before the crack of dawn to _unlock _my apartment?"

"Us, I thought!" She glared at him, fire alight in her gaze. All at once, Natasha turned around to leave, her intense hair whipping her cheeks with the force of her spin.

The movement brought Auggie back from the stunned oblivion he'd slipped into to process her sentence. "Wait, what?"

Natasha spun angrily around again, half in and half out of the apartment. "Us! Or have you forgotten you missed our anniversary?"

"I—"

"No," Natasha interrupted. "You must have because you did not call, you did not answer your phone—you made _no attempt_ to reach your 'girlfriend' at all!"

Auggie's argument dried up in his mouth. He hadn't taken his unencrypted, non-business cell with him. It was standard procedure for those agents with two numbers. The "recreational" cell could be tracked back to the area and could blow a whole operation. For the duration of a mission, all communication had to go through secured lines unless cleared by the boss. Not that Auggie could tell Natasha that. As far as she knew, August Anderson was another cubical computer tech that every so often got to legally break into banks and homes. Any excuse he tried would fall on ears that had heard it too many times.

"I know." Auggie took a chance and embraced her. "I'm sorry." He leaned in to kiss her. For a moment, Natasha refused to return his attention, but she soon broke.

After a long second that sent fire running down his skin, Auggie pulled out of the suction. "You still haven't explained why you were here so early when you thought I wasn't going to be home," he whispered.

Natasha's smile was sly as she stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "So I would be here when my boyfriend came home. To remind him," she added, pushing more air than necessary into his ear.

Auggie swallowed. "Remind him of what?"

"This."


	7. Only the Truth

**A/N: This chapter, wow, it took forever. It also marks the beginning of the drama. From now on, expect more drama than humor. On the plus side, I've finished writing this fic. All that remains is the editing. **

Chapter Seven: Only the Truth

Ever since the morning he'd nearly killed Natasha, something had been bothering Auggie. It wasn't that he'd nearly sent a knife through her—he'd been acting on instinct and had he not been willing to kill first, ask questions later, he would most definitely not have been there at all. No, the worry came from the knowledge that for the first time in his adult life, if not his whole life, he hadn't questioned an excuse.

His acceptance might have had something to do with the workout he'd been invited to just after. Alone, that was bad enough—if sex could break him now, he was slipping—but Auggie knew, even as he tried to convince himself otherwise, that it hadn't just been the sex.

He, Lieutenant Anderson, Agent August Anderson, the Agency's most untouchable eye candy and superspy, who never had a relationship last longer than a few months and only cared about his job, was in love. And as if that weren't enough, he completely trusted this love. This woman, this Russian, who's life, self, being, he only knew in summarized cliff notes.

His ignorance was so worrisome, his respect for her privacy almost crumbled multiple times and he very nearly searched for her in the database, once getting as far as typing the V in "Petrovna" before he caught himself.

Auggie didn't get a chance to satisfy his curiosity until a few weeks after his realization.

~OOOOOO~

It was the Friday in March, and Auggie and Natasha had spent the day in a sort of companionable silence punctuated by swift keystrokes, sometimes broken by a comment or a request for a short consultation on a piece of code.

Auggie had gotten the day off because, as his boss, Joan Campbell had told him, he'd been working even harder than usual, and while she appreciated his dedication, if he didn't take a long weekend, she'd put him behind a pile of folders so tall, he'd be stuck there for months.

Natasha had come over early. She'd taken to showing up with her laptop whenever Auggie was home, and sometimes, when he wasn't. She said she liked his couch, which, in all fairness, was much more comfortable than her lumpy sofa. Auggie tried not to be so disappointed on the days when he came home to an empty apartment.

There was a storm raging outside. Auggie looked up from his research (espionage 101 stated spies should know at least _something _about everything, and Auggie had always been an avid student) to admire the air of mystery and almost beautiful grayness of the premature night.

Something about the atmosphere in the room spoke to him, egging his curiosity on and telling him it was time.

"Tash?" Auggie spoke, his voice a little dry. He hadn't spoken in a couple of hours.

Natasha looked up, her eyes sticking for a second longer on her computer screen. "Auggie?"

Auggie tried not to focus on the effect her pronunciation of his name had on him. It was the same every time. He gave himself a mental shake. "Want to play a game?"

"What sort of game?" Natasha put her laptop on the table and scooted closer to her boyfriend.

Auggie saw the arousal in her eyes, and his plan nearly died out in the wake of his own libido. But Auggie steeled himself. He had to clear his conscience and his gut was telling him now was the time.

"Well, as much as you know I'd love to play _that_ game," Auggie adjusted himself so that Natasha's fingers were no longer creeping up his chest, but instead, she was pinned in his arms, with her back to him. "How about we do something different today?"

"Different?" Natasha twisted to look up at him. "What sort of different?"

"Well," Auggie hesitated for the barest moment, choosing his words carefully, "Why don't we play 20 Questions? We each ask the other twenty questions of any type that have to be answered completely."

Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Why?"

Auggie was ready for her question. "Because I want to know more about you."

"You know all you need to know," Natasha argued, pushing away from his chest.

Auggie pulled her back. "Yes, but I thought this might be fun." He switched approaches. "And surely there are some things you want to ask me?" He didn't wait for her reply. "Now is the chance. You can't lie in grown-up 20 Questions."

Natasha looked him in the eye. "How do we know the other is telling the truth?"

Auggie allowed a small grin to appear on his face; he knew he almost had her. "We'll just have to trust each other." Seeing Natasha's skepticism—his heart did a sort of flop at the expression, surprisingly—he added, "But if that's not interesting enough, how about this?"

Auggie scrambled his brain, thinking on his feet. His eyes flitted to the cupboard below the sink. He had a bottle of Patron back there, he was almost positive. "If we feel like we're about to lie, we have to take a shot of tequila. Deal?" Auggie knew he might have just put himself in the position of breaking nondisclosure agreements, but for the first time in his career, he realized he wanted to share the truth, and that thought scared him more than any other and made him that more desperate to know the true Natasha Petrovna.

Natasha seemed to be considering his proposal. She knew Auggie's dislike for the flavor, and, though it furthered the stereotype, she could only really enjoy vodka. She smiled. "Okay, but I go first."

"Deal. I'll get the glasses."

~OOOOOOO~

Natasha stared at the agent in front of her. Now that they were all ready to start grilling each other, she was almost wary. She was by nature curious, and she strongly believed that one person should never keep information, but she'd never really gotten the chance to be so open. Over the last few months, as their relationship progressed, Natasha had been increasingly tempted to run a search on her boyfriend, but she'd never quite been able to do so. Now was her chance. She took a deep, steadying breath.

"That tattoo, on your back, what does it mean?"

The grin Auggie had been sporting faltered; he hadn't expected her to go so personal so quickly. He'd thought she would be more timid at first. It was yet another sign that he didn't know her well enough.

"I got it when I was in the Special Forces." Auggie's fingers itched to reach for the alcohol. "I woke up with a particularly bad hangover and it was there. It's the sign of my unit." Auggie didn't go on. It was too difficult.

The tattoo had been against regulation, and more than one CO and instructor had recommended that he get it removed, but even though it meant almost certain pain and or death if he were captured on a mission, he couldn't do it. He was proud of his unit, proud that he was a member of the CIA elite Special Forces. If he died because he had been too drunk after a failed op to stop the tattoo artist from carving it in his back, he deserved it.

Natasha hid most of her surprise. She'd known her boyfriend had been in the military, he'd told her as much, but even if he hadn't, she'd seen the signs, but she'd never known just how integral his government was still in his life. He might try to deign it, but she saw the flash of duty in his body language.

Auggie smiled again, locking the memories that went with the tattoo back behind the wall he'd built. "My turn. Let's see," he glanced around, trying to think of a question besides the one that was burning the back of his tongue. "When did you realize you are brilliant at computers?" He sweetened the question/complement with a serious, but suggestive, smile.

Natasha was relieved that he'd gone with a much lighter first question. She had never been comfortable sharing. "When I got to university. We could not get a computer when I was young. What about you?"

"I'm going to assume that's your second question." Natasha nodded, and Auggie continued, glad it was easy. "Well, I think I first hacked into the family desktop when I was six, but that could just be family exaggeration." Auggie allowed himself to share an amused look with his girlfriend.

"No, my first real memory was when I was about eight. You know those old computer games?" Natasha nodded, and Auggie continued. "Yeah, well, my older brothers would never let me play. They said it was too difficult or something, I can't remember. Anyway, I was sick one day, and while they were at school, I decided I was going to prove that I was old enough to play too. So I did. They were so mad when they came home and found that I'd beaten the evil wizard before they could." Auggie smiled at the memory. He'd never told anyone about that. He was beginning to like this game.

It took him a second to remember it was his turn to ask a question. "Um... What is your family like?"

"Was," Natasha corrected. Information went two ways in her book, and as long as Auggie was telling her the complete truth (and something about the way he was looking at her told her he was), so was she. "My parents are dead. The government captured my father when I was seven. I had a brother, but he died before I could remember." She had purposefully buried the tidbit about her father, but she could tell Auggie had heard it. She wanted to distract him.

"My mother worked hard. She was good at numbers, taught me them. She would have taught me more, but she had to work." Natasha didn't want to go on. "What made you join the Army?"

Auggie was taken aback by the sudden change in subject. He blinked. "I was recruited while I was still at MIT." Auggie wasn't lying, but he felt like he should pour himself a glass of Patron. He couldn't tell her it hadn't been the Army that had recruited him, but the CIA. "They were impressed by my computer skills. They said I was needed."

Auggie couldn't hold back the strange feeling in his stomach (guilt?) and poured himself a glass. He drank the shot, avoiding Natasha's eye as he did so, letting the burn of his least-favorite drink singe his trachea and give him time to reinforce his loyalty to his oath of secrecy. "My father had been in Vietnam. He didn't approve of war, but he'd raised my brothers and me with patriotism. I guess it rubbed off."

Natasha was almost glad when Auggie asked his next question, even if it was the one she had been dreading as soon as she'd agreed to play the game. "Why was your father arrested?"

Natasha took a breath. "They said he was a dissenter." Natasha kept her voice even, but as what always happened when she thought about her father, her emotions began to bubble. "They were wrong. He just wanted to know the truth. He was a writer," she clarified before Auggie could ask. "He was asking too many questions."

She poured herself some tequila, but Auggie knew it wasn't because she was going to lie. It was clear that she was riled, and if Auggie was right, he wasn't surprised. He'd only been eleven when the Soviet Union had fallen, but he remembered asking about the Secret Police and hearing the reports. And if half of the stories his mentor told about the USSR were true, it was no wonder Natasha's father had been arrested.

Auggie gave her a few moments to compose herself, trying to ignore the feeling of shame growing in his stomach. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in years, but it was strong. He knew he shouldn't be, but that just seemed to make it hurt more. He hadn't been the officer who'd taken her father from her, he hadn't been an agent then, hell, he hadn't even graduated elementary school, but still, Auggie felt bad. It was irrational and he wanted to scold himself, but it did no good.

Finally Natasha came back from her story. Auggie had listened and not commented, for which Natasha was grateful. She'd never in her life told someone so much about herself, and while it felt good to trust someone, she also felt naked. She suddenly wanted the interrogation to end. She asked the first question that came to mind. "Do you agree with your government?"

Auggie froze. Of all the questions he'd been expecting, none of them were like that. He was proud to be an American soldier, proud that he could protect the people that made up his nation, proud that he was making a difference, right? Then Natasha's voice, her fiery-rant about her father and her government, surfaced in his mind. He thought passed the _Star Spangled Banner _and red, white, and blue. He remembered the 2000 election, where the people's vote had been sidestepped, and for the first time, he questioned whether the Founding Fathers were right to create the Electoral College. He questioned the Congress that allowed his "company" to train dictators. He questioned whether trickery, whether cover stories, were really for all parties' protection. For the first time since he'd first asked his mother why he had to say the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in kindergarten, he was questioning. And he didn't like it.

Auggie wanted to say that he of course he trusted the United States of America. He wanted to say that he believed the government laid down by Jefferson, Monroe, Madison, Washington, Hamilton, and all the others he couldn't remember at the moment was the best in the world. He wanted to say "Bubba" Blue and those he represented hadn't died in vain.

So he poured himself a shot, and then another, and then another. And then he answered, "I don't know."


	8. Taking the Plunge

Chapter Eight: Taking the Plunge

It had been months since Auggie had pushed Natasha into playing 20 Questions. That night hadn't ended well, even when Natasha tried to cover her mistake by keeping her questions light. Auggie had kept to the script until his last question, a spur-of-the-moment and alcohol-induced, "Do you want to move in?"

He hadn't planned it, hadn't expected it to come barreling out of his mouth, but if he had, he certainly wouldn't have expected her answer to be such a decisive "No." When her answer had sunk into his inebriated brain (they'd both had more than their fair share of the tequila), the resulting disappointment had killed the flirtatious mood and given a renewed life to the elephant that had, despite it having learned the art of camouflage, yet to bow out.

The sex was still unbelievable, and Natasha still spent more time on his sofa than her own, but it was different. And Auggie wasn't sure he liked it.

So it was that Auggie found himself sharing a table with Elton Wu, a fellow field operative based on the sixth floor in the Department of Asian Affairs. The two agents had been in the same year at the Farm, though Elton had gone directly to the Agency while Auggie had accepted the CIA's invitation to the special operational unit in the army. They didn't often run into each other, but Wu was as close to a friend as Auggie had in the Agency now that Mace had retired.

Allen's Tavern was crowded. It was a Friday night, and the volume was incrementally increasing as the night grew older. As a rule, Auggie avoided Friday nights at Allen's, but he didn't want to go to the office and going home (where he might run into Natasha) wasn't an option.

Earlier that night they'd gotten into a disagreement over the cable—she'd found his bill and gotten angry that he was paying so much for information that shouldn't be kept for those who "can afford to pay". Auggie had refused to hack into the system and absolutely forbidden Natasha to do it herself. Auggie had become so mad—as was becoming a habit since _that_ night—he'd stormed out of his apartment. Auggie had been willing to face the horrible assault on his eardrums and limited seating (not to mention standing room) to get drunk while they both cooled off.

He'd intended to wallow in self-pity at the tedious predicament of being in love with a woman who was his moral opposite, but there hadn't been an unoccupied bar stool or table, so he'd gone with the next best option. Elton had been sitting alone, obviously more interested in getting lucky than talking.

"Oh, ten, a definite ten. Your eight," Elton informed. "No, don't turn, she keeps looking around."

Auggie adjusted his pint a few degrees clockwise to reflect the bar, twisting it a little so he could clearly see the woman his friend had so easily given a ten out of twelve on the hotness scale. "Forget it," Auggie replied easily.

Auggie took a swig of his brew, while Elton glanced surreptitiously around a reasonably drunk horde of college students to take another look at her. "What're you talking about, she's just my type."

"You've been behind a desk too long if you think you're going to get anywhere near her." Auggie put down his beer, coming out of his minor funk to mess with his friend. "She's into tall, smart, dark, and rugged."

"Bull. There's no way—" the shorter Asian agent began, just as a five-foot, six inches, blond, blue-eyed college jock (evident by his letterman and drunk buddies at the corner table) approached the subject of their conversation. Thirty seconds later the jock was only pretending he was getting somewhere.

Auggie grinned and leaned back in his chair.

"Not fair, the guy's drunk." Elton was not to be undone. He looked back at Auggie. "Thirty says you're talkin' outta your ass."

Auggie stood, pushing his beer away. He approached from the woman's left, making sure the jock, who had yet to get her signals, could see him coming if he bothered to look, and composed his lines.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, putting his hand on the woman's lower back, and staring pointedly at the jock. He leaned forward subtly, claiming his dominance.

"Who're you?" Elton was right. The odor of Budweiser and tequila was strong on the man's breath, and his words were slurred. Auggie was almost impressed that he was still standing relatively steadily.

Auggie stood straight and pulled his shoulders wide; the blond footballer turned tail and melted into the crowd. Auggie glanced around, and waited patently for a guy to abandon the stool at her left before snagging it, while the woman checked him over.

Auggie kept his confidence as her eyes skirted up his muscular chest (evident even under his shirt) and she admired his slightly longer than regulation haircut. Auggie sat down. He opened his mouth to say something, probably introduce himself, but she interrupted him.

"Why don't we get out of here?" The gleam in her eye and the raised corner of her lip belied the question in her tone.

Auggie pretended he wasn't surprised at her abruptness. He stood up and escorted her out of the crowed room.

~OOOOOO~

Two hours had passed since Auggie had been pushed against the driver's side of his car and luscious "seductress secret" lipstick had been smeared across his cheek.

He'd been all ready for a steamy one-nighter like he'd once been so comfortable with, the thought of cheating on Natasha not even crossing his mind (it wouldn't be the first time in their relationship he'd kissed another woman, even if they had been in the line of duty), but somewhere between tasting the alcohol on her lips and twisting his tongue into her mouth, Auggie realized something was wrong. It took him pulling away from her smacking suction to recognize the singular lack of fire running down his spine and the heaviness in his gut that was quite unrelated to the feeling of elation exchanging saliva with a member of the opposite sex usually brought.

He'd been so shocked that he'd pushed the woman away. He'd left her there, by his car, and walked the miles back to the Agency in a sort of haze.

Auggie wasn't sure when he'd passed the security stations or taken the elevator up to the DPD, but somehow he found himself at his desk, staring at the form that had somehow appeared in front of him.

His eyes were focused on the first question. He blinked, yanking himself out of his mind. He had come to a decision, a sort of enlightenment. His quick decrypting-brain translated the government jumble with detached ease. He picked up a pen, and mechanically penned "Natasha Petrovna" on the first line.

~OOOOOO~

The minutes passed in a swish and flourish of cerulean ink. Auggie let the questions filter through his mind. Every once in a while parts of the questions would register, sometimes echo in his conscious, but each action was done, each question answered, with robotic indifference.

_ Length of relationship?... Cover employment compromised?...On a scale from one to ten, rate your emotions… American citizen?... Employment?... Past indiscretions?... _

The form never seemed to end, the language becoming more and more overt, and yet confusing, the further down the list Auggie went. He found his blood running cold, pounding in his head as his pen wrote the truth. His heart sank as he watched the ink form his chances of being allowed to continue his relationship.

Then he reached the final question. The full question shattered the out-of-body experience as his eyes took in the words that formed the scariest question he thought he'd ever seen.

_Are you willing to stake your career on this? _

He blinked. And took a deep breath. He put down his pen and laced his fingers in front of his mouth. In the darkness of the empty department, in the pool of the cheep florescent light on his desk, the gentle humming of the hardware in the tech booth, the memories of the past hours and last months, Auggie hesitated.

There was no question that he loved his Tash, but how much was he willing to go through? She was a handful. She was independent and stubborn. She had her ideals and enforced them. She was foolhardy, and as good an actor as any agent. She didn't want kids, or to live with him, even though she spent more time in Auggie's apartment than in her own loft in Crystal City. She was as good with computers as Auggie, if not better. She worked with radical groups that Auggie couldn't and wouldn't hear about.

But Auggie knew that and more.

He knew how her eyes lit up when she found a flaw in a program and managed to fix it. He knew how her lips pursed when she prepared to drive a point home. He knew how she crumpled when he pressed on the nerve bundle behind her left ear. And after the events of earlier that night, he knew that it would take more than a pleasant request from his boss to get him to play another Casanova.

He signed his name with a determined finality. He stood up and turned out his light. He dropped the form at Joan's office in the shadowed darkness, anxious to leave; he had a woman to apologize to.


	9. Heart Vs Brain

Chapter Nine: Heart Vs. Brain

"Hey! What are you doing here?" Auggie stood up from his desk to greet the man who'd taught him to be the best. It was a rare occasion when Philip Mace showed up at the Agency. "It's been what, almost four months? Weren't you in the Philippines or something?"

"That's classified," his mentor replied, shaking Auggie's outstretched hand. His smile dropped enough for Auggie to see the hesitancy he didn't know the former agent could have in his eye. "Let's walk."

Auggie didn't question. He followed Mace out of the DPD and waited until they were across the street, sitting on an out-of-the-way bench, to break the silence. "I don't think I've ever seen you so un-Bondish."

Auggie tried to keep his voice light, but tension undermined his effort. He would never admit how unnerved he was by Mace's demeanor.

"I have something to tell you and you are not to interrupt," Mace replied. Auggie nodded slowly, trying and failing to read what was coming on the old agent's face. "I recently became aware that you have submitted a Close and Continuing."

Auggie didn't bother wasting brainpower wondering how Mace knew. "A couple of months ago, yeah, but I haven't heard anything yet."

"Bureaucracy," Mace commented under his breath, smoothly giving himself time to reinforce his resolve. "But in this case, the delay is useful. You should know that I've been keeping tabs on Ms. Petrovna—"

"What?" Auggie's trepidation instantly changed into anger. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, Mace had always been protective of him, but going behind his back and flagging Natasha was too far.

"I said you are not to interrupt," Mace ordered. After almost a decade of obeying that tone, Auggie's mouth slammed shut and he sat back down. He stared straight ahead in silent outrage.

"Three days ago a contact at Quantico called me. For the last couple of years, they've been tracking a radical hacker. Last week there was a breakthrough in the case. They managed to identify the hacker as Natasha Petrovna."

"That's not possible." Auggie hadn't been able to keep his mouth closed. He was barely managing to contain the fury coursing through his veins. "Tash would never—"

"How well do you know her?"

Auggie focused on clenching his fists and clearing his expression. "I know everything I need to," he bit out.

"They have proof, Lieutenant."

The use of Auggie's military title reminded Auggie that he needed to be objective. He slipped into his soldier persona and started counting exponentially, an old habit for adrenaline management he'd picked up somewhere around high school.

Mace waited until Auggie was reasonably in control before continuing. "They've connected her to a string of hacks. It doesn't look good."

Auggie exhaled, letting the seven-digit number go. "What are they going to do?"

Mace shook his head. "My contact wouldn't tell me."

"So they're going to put her in a sting."

Mace looked over at his protégé for the first time since he'd begun. As much as he'd prepared himself for this meeting, it hurt to see the effect the information had on Auggie. He had managed to control himself, but Mace found he almost preferred the anger and denial to the blank wall he was seeing on the younger spy's face. He observed his stoic stance with an emotion too much like regret in his chest. "I am sorry, August, my boy."

The term of endearment slipped out before Mace could stop it, but once it was out, the effect was immediate. Auggie looked at Mace.

"Why should I trust you?" His voice was as controlled as his demeanor.

"Because I'm all you have." Mace stood, his bad knee cracking in an uncharacteristic exhibition of weakness. "Me, the Agency—we're the only ones who have your back."

~OOOOOO~

Auggie brushed passed the lunch crowd, ignoring greetings and gruffly shaking his head when someone asked what he wanted from the deli.

He charged into the tech booth, making the techies jump. Auggie ignored them. He addressed Scott. "I'm borrowing your laptop."

He pulled the computer out of Scott's messenger bag without waiting for permission.

"Sure," Scott answered to Auggie's back. "Since you asked so nicely!"

Auggie sank into his desk chair. He opened the laptop and glared at the screen as it woke up as if it were the computer's fault that Scott had put it to sleep.

He hunched over the screen, trusting his collogues to recognize his body language as the "F-off" he was intending.

It was almost too easy to crack the security of the federal database. It took even less time for Auggie to locate Natasha's file. His denial disintegrated more and more into disappointed and betrayal as his eyes raced faster and faster down the screen.

His brain fought with his heart as he read the Feds' assumptions.

He had to fight to keep his breathing even when his gaze landed on a picture. It had been taken a few days before of him and Natasha. It showed them getting into his car, coming out of the movie theater. The photographer had snapped the picture just after Auggie had stumbled on the curb and in the split-second before Natasha's laugh had become vocal. Had it not been a surveillance photo, it would have been a shot well deserving of a frame and a place on Auggie's nightstand, but its beauty was significantly tainted.

The fact that not only were the Feds following them, but that they also knew Auggie was even worse. A few seconds of searching revealed that the cyber division had already looked into him. At the moment they seemed appeased by the history the cover department had composed, but if they ever decided to look further, eventually someone would fill in the blanks and discover the truth. It could only be a matter of times before Human Resources called Auggie in for a polygraph.

Any hope Auggie had been nursing that he could use his skills to help Natasha evaporated as he computed the situation. He couldn't be suspected. The breadcrumbs couldn't lead back to him.

Auggie searched through the cyber division, anger making him vicious, blocking any morals that might have made him hesitate as he hacked deeper into the database.

His heart thumped in his ears as he read the Feds' plans. They had an agent undercover. That agent had identified Natasha, had hired her to hack into the Department of Agriculture. Natasha was going to go down.

Something snapped in Auggie's consciousness. He didn't know how long he'd been in their system, but his gut told him there were only a few more moments before the FBI realized he was there. Auggie had to get out. He reset the firewalls, clearing any trace of his hack.

~OOOOOOO~

Auggie knew he had to get to Natasha's computer. If what he'd read was true, he'd find some record of it on her laptop and then maybe his heart would finally agree with what his brain had already realized. The only question was: how was he going to get to it?

Natasha kept her laptop with her at all times. She was a professional hacker, she was too smart not to. Auggie's one chance to get to her computer without her around was to distract her, get her away from it long enough for him to work his magic.

Scenarios played out in his head as he drove home. He'd spent the afternoon on a whirlwind of emotions without the clarity of mind to finish the paperwork he was supposed to be doing. All too soon, he parked his car outside his apartment building.

"Tash?" he called, opening his front door. He half-hoped she wouldn't be there, that she had decided to spend the night at her own apartment as she sometimes did, but his hopes were dashed when she answered.

She was sitting on the armchair, her back to him, but she shut her computer before Auggie could see what she'd been doing. "I hoped you would come soon."

Auggie plastered on a smile and leaned down to kiss her. He tried not to think of the day's developments as he breathed in her spicy perfume and tasted the spearmint on her lips. He didn't want to do what he knew he had to.

He let his knees buckle, collapsing onto the couch, spreading his feet out with an exaggerated groan. "You wouldn't believe what sort of day I had," he remarked.

Natasha eyed him and put her laptop on the table. She moved gracefully, Auggie lifting his legs so that she could sit. "I had a breakthrough," she mentioned, lying down so that her head could rest on Auggie's chest. It was a familiar position, one of Auggie's favorite ways to snuggle, and she knew it.

Auggie controlled his heart at her words, all too aware that she could hear it beating. He kept his voice open and relaxed. "What was it?" He allowed himself a moment to believe that he wouldn't have to hack her computer after all.

"I found a weakness in the security. I will show them how big it is soon." Auggie had never wanted to know much about Natasha's work(and today he'd found out why), so he'd never noticed just how little Natasha really told him about what she did. Her vagueness didn't help his heart in its raging battle against his brain.

"How big is it?" Auggie prodded gently.

"They should know they are not safe," Natasha replied. Auggie's heart sank. She was avoiding his question.

Auggie resigned to the evitable. He pushed aside all warring factions of his soul and forced himself to imagine that he was following orders and that this was just another mission. "Hey, today's Wednesday," he said. "Wednesday is take-out."

Natasha smiled, Auggie could feel her cheek muscles bulge against his chest, and he steeled himself to look down. His throat closed at the look on her face. She was so ignorant, so trusting. "We have not had it in some time."

Auggie forced himself to return her expression. "Yeah, time to bring that back, don't you think?" He pushed himself off the couch, the weight on his chest not lifting as Natasha sat up to allow him to stand. "Tell you what, I'll order, 'kay?"

Auggie dialed the number of his favorite Chinese restaurant, pushing aside the memory of their first official date. He ordered himself to maintain eye contact with his girlfriend as the phone rang.

"Ah, yes. Is this the Flying Dragon?" Auggie asked as soon as someone picked up. "Great. I'd like to order," Auggie allowed himself to remember only what they'd eaten that night more than a year ago, "two wonton soups and a couple of egg rolls. I'd also like one sweet and sour pork, one chicken lo mien, and," Auggie's stomach did another flip as he saw that Natasha recognized how he was choosing their order, "some shrimp fried rice. Yes, that's for two," Auggie answered.

Auggie listened as the waiter read back what he'd ordered, watching Natasha as she came closer. She had that look on her face, the one that usually made Auggie have to take a moment to control a certain organ, but today it only made Auggie sick with another wave of remorse.

"Um," Auggie reined his attention back to the phone. "That's right." Auggie paused, molding his face into an expression of disappointment. Natasha saw the change and perked her head a little in a silent question. The movement reminded Auggie of innocence and the knife in his chest twisted. It was difficult to make his voice match his face.

"In that case, I guess we'll have to pick it up." The waiter seemed confused at Auggie's statement, but Auggie had pulled the phone against his shoulder. "One of their delivery boys called in sick and the other one has to leave early," he lied. "I'm sorry."

Auggie put the phone back against his ear. "How long will it be?...Twenty minutes?...Okay, we'll see you then." Auggie hung up and turned back to Natasha.

"I'm sorry, Tash," he repeated. He put the phone on the cradle. "I'll pick it up."

Auggie felt like a snake when Natasha stopped him. "No, I will get it. You had a bad day." She kissed him on the cheek, rubbing his day's worth of beard with a sultriest motion. "You rest. When I get back…" she left her sentence hanging, allowing Auggie to imagine what she was going to say.

"Really?" Auggie didn't have to pretend to swallow a lump in his throat.

Natasha kissed him again and reached for his car keys. She shot him another grin over her shoulder as she left.

~OOOOOOO~

Auggie waited five long minutes to make sure she'd gone before he sat down in the armchair and pulled Natasha's laptop onto his lap. With a heavier heart than he could ever remember having, Auggie flipped opened the computer.

As he'd expected, it was password protected. Under normal circumstances, Auggie would simply have bypassed the lock, but Auggie knew that Natasha was too good for that. He had to find the right password.

Auggie ran his hand over his mouth. Natasha would never make this easy. She would use something that no one but her could guess. Auggie's first thought was that she'd used something Russian, but he quickly dismissed it. Natasha felt too little love for her first language.

He stared at the screen for ten minutes, lost in calculations and everything he knew about his girlfriend. His girlfriend. Something clicked, a line of dialogue from that night they'd played 20 Questions. "_Seven months, three days, and almost five hours._"

He scratched his head, willing the context of that memory to come. What had he asked her? It had been late into the game and he'd been so drunk. _"How long was your longest relationship?"_

Auggie's eyes snapped open. That had been it! Auggie remembered it clearly now. Somehow his inebriated mind had been able to calculate backwards and he'd registered that she was talking about theirs. He'd felt so at ease when she'd said it, he wondered that he'd forgotten it.

Auggie's fingers shook almost noticeably as he punched in the date of when she'd sat down at his table in the Flying Dragon and had therefore started their relationship. 093007.

Auggie nearly jumped when the computer gave a honk of error. He had one more wrong answer before a countdown would begin and he'd have thirty seconds before the hard drive would self-destruct. He knew because he'd written the program with her. He wanted to punch himself in the balls for his stupidity.

"Think, man!" he growled at himself. He wracked his brains. He closed his eyes and, praying to something, typed A-U-G-G-I-E into the slot.

The countdown began.

Auggie didn't allow himself to feel hurt that she hadn't used his name. It had been a long shot anyway. At five seconds before destruction with no new ideas, he closed his eyes and let his fingers try.

Auggie opened his eyes just in time to see the countdown freeze at two and the word "TASH" in the box.

"Password accepted," flashed across the screen before her desktop opened and Auggie saw what she'd been working on.

Three minutes before Natasha would return, Auggie closed the computer, all evidence that he'd been there gone, but the crack in his heart all too real.

**A/N: It's hard to believe there's only one chapter left. I don't want it to end! I'm having too much fun! Don't be surprised if I hold off posting chapter ten for a few days or so; I want to pretend I'm still working on it. **


	10. Auggie loves Tash

**A/N: First, let me say this was one of the most challenging and gratifying pieces I've ever written. I know I would never have been able to continue it without everyone's support. Neither have I been so encouraged by the responses nor have I felt so well received. I've had more reviews than this, but the adage of quality over quantity has been proven again. I don't think I'll ever be able to top the reviews I've gotten for this story. Thank you, thank you, thank you. **

**Now, I believe I've held off the inevitable as long as I can. Here's the final chapter. For obvious reasons, there will be no sequel. **

Chapter Ten: August Loves Tash

It should have been raining. In all the movies he'd seen, it was always pouring buckets of rain, but in real life, it was a clear, cold night. Auggie wanted it to rain. Auggie needed it to rain. Without rain, there was no pretending this was just another bad movie.

He sat in his car, staring through the windshield at her. She was sitting at the table, barely visible through the restaurant's window. She was wearing a black dress, the kind that was only just acceptable in polite company. Her hair, her beautiful fiery locks, the ones that had first drawn his eyes, was cascading down her pale shoulders in perfect ringlets.

Perfect. She looked perfect.

He'd invited her there, called her from his desk, told her to meet him at Kincaid's at seven thirty. He had intended to go in, to tell her face-to-face, but he hadn't been able to get out of his car.

He'd planned his whole speech, but in the harshness of the streetlamps and perfect night, his words didn't seem right. His knuckles were white in the dark of his car as he gripped the steering wheel.

Auggie wished he could tell her that he'd been able to save her. He wished he could whisper in her ear that he was going to be her white knight in shining armor. He'd tried so hard. He'd gone to Joan, told her about her skills, tried to convince his boss that she would be a huge asset to the Agency, but Joan had seen right through him. She placed her hand on his shoulder and said they couldn't interfere.

_"Perhaps before they identified her,"_ she had said. _"Maybe we could have hired her, but it's out of our hands now."_

Auggie had tried to argue—he'd even gone as far as begging—but Joan had said there was nothing they could do.

Auggie sat in his car, his muscles locked as he watched her sip her wine and glance around to see if he'd arrived yet. He wanted to honk the horn, to punch, kick out his car door, but he couldn't.

_"It's too late,"_ Joan had said.

Too late. The words tasted as bad as they sounded. If only he'd known what she'd been doing. If only he'd had the courage to ask what she wrote those programs for. If only he'd told his college professor to screw himself when he'd first recruited him. If only…

For the first time in as long as he could remember, August Anderson felt tears on his cheeks. He didn't bother trying to stop his eyes from leaking; it was as pointless as trying to push back the onslaught of memories.

They'd spent the whole day in their compartment on the train back to Crystal City, and before that they'd spent the whole weekend in their hotel room. She'd given him the box set of _Next Generation_ for Christmas. Somehow she'd known they were his favorite. When he'd given her the key to his apartment, she'd merely smiled.

They'd argue for hours until one of them pulled the other into a heavy kiss that always resulted in crumpled sheets and long afterglows. She'd taught him how to encrypt a computer to be better protected than Fort Knox. She'd leave messages in codes on his counter. She'd always carry a book of logic puzzles in her computer bag. She'd lean into his chest and smile. She'd fall asleep on his shoulder. She'd deign she snored. She'd never comment when he would jerk awake. She'd never questioned his need to keep a knife in his nightstand. She'd say his name and he'd feel a warm glow. She'd get him so angry, he'd be forced to remember that he loved her.

He loved her.

August Anderson loved Natasha Petrovna.

No, August Anderson loved _Tash_. Auggie loved _Tash_, not Natasha. Natasha was a black widow, a seductress with dubious morals.

"_Me, the Agency—we're the only ones who have your back."_

Have his back. Where were they when Auggie needed them? Where were they when the only woman he'd ever loved was about to be served up cold? After all he'd done for them, given them the best ten years of his life, where were they? It was all a joke.

Auggie cleared his throat. He reached around for his phone, and without pulling his eyes from the woman in the black dress, he dialed a number. "General, this is Lieutenant August Anderson. You know that invitation? Well, I'm accepting."

Natasha glanced out of the window, her brown eyes searching the blackness for his sturdy, confident stride. But she wouldn't find it, because Auggie had already pulled away.

~OOOOOO~

August Anderson walked through his apartment once more, assuring himself that everything was in its place or locked up in storage.

In less than forty-eight hours, he'd be reunited with his team. He hadn't asked where; it hadn't mattered then, and it didn't matter now.

His desk in the middle of the DPD bullpen was abandoned. Some rookie might take it, claim it as their own, and they could have it. The only thing of any significance left there—that letter that had destroyed all doubt in his mind—they could have. He certainly didn't want it. He didn't need yet another reminder that he couldn't have what could have been.

He swung his bag over his shoulder and walked to his door. He kept his eyes from narrowing and his eyebrows from curling inward, and forced his lower facial muscles to relax the hook-shaped fold alongside his mouth. Maybe he pulled it off, maybe he didn't; Auggie couldn't get himself to look in the mirror.


End file.
